Spike Spin-off/ Episode One : This is your Un-life
by PedanticAnticQueen
Summary: Spike gets a spin-off, new show and new characters with the occasional cameo of BTVS crew. First installment of epic series (Complete as can be until next episode comes out)
1. Visit to An old Friend

Spin- off city  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. (Oh well. Life's tough) They all belong to Joss Whedon, and Mutant Enemy Productions. And no, I'm not doing this for any financial compensation; I just do this for fun.  
  
Summary; This occurs after both Angel and BTVS have finished their respective runs. This is a Spike series, with new characters, the occasional cameo of BTVS crew and a completely different tone to it. (Assuming, of course, that they don't give him the big old kybosh… Damn them all if they do.)  
  
Episode 1; This is Your Unlife  
  
Well, there it was.  
  
It wasn't exactly as Spike had pictured it in his imagination, but close enough so that he could identify as soon as he arrived on their street. White picket fence, SUV and a minivan in the driveway, Fisher Price toys scattered on the lawn and neatly trimmed lawn hedges. The very epitome of suburban domesticity; it made his stomach churn.  
  
He had arrived an hour earlier, but still he couldn't bring himself to take the steps up to the house and ring the doorbell. So he sat there, smoking endless cigarettes and working up the nerve for this confrontation, without resorting to the flask of bourbon he kept in his glove compartment.  
  
He passed the time reassuring himself that they were just going to waste their lives like this; an endless and monotonous existence which consisted of going to the supermarket, filling out report cards, shopping at the mall and buying Volvos, and wasn't he the lucky one to un-live his dashing and debonair lifestyle, unhindered by responsibilities and the dreariness of Everyday Life? Excitement and adventure were awaiting him at every turn, not K-mart and dirty nappies.  
  
'My my, the grapes are sour today', he thought, rolling his eyes at himself. He wasn't one to back down from a challenge; no no, not he, slayer of Slayers, William the Bloody, the bleedin original Big Bad. He looked down from the window of his parked car to the pavement, where a growing pile of cigarette butts almost looked back at him reproachfully. 'Look at me, I litter', he thought wistfully… 'Littering, petty theft and unpaid parking tickets; you're on your way back my man… Long live the King of Minor Misdemeanors'.  
  
With a shaking hand, he unlocked the door of his classic De Soto and he marched right over to the door. The thought of sitting in the car for the entire night and brooding was just not his style. Better to get this over and done with.  
  
He began to swagger towards the house, trademark black leather duster flaring out behind him and he almost felt restored to all former glory. With each step he felt his confidence returning and he couldn't help but be aware of what a dashing figure he made, all platinum blonde hair and sleek, pantherine movements and if any girls were watching now they'd all be swooning, knickers at their ankles and… and... Oh crap, there was dog shit on his boot.  
  
As he began to unceremoniously scrape the shit off on a garden gnome, he heard the door open behind him and a very loud and pointed "*ahem*". Ceasing his defilement of the lawn ornament, he froze, regained his composure, straightened his jacket, smoothed his hair and turned around with pearly whites showing in an uncharacteristically innocent smile.  
  
"Hi Buffy."  
  
"Spike, stop wiping your boot on Mr. Took and get your ass in here.", she said, leaning on the doorframe with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. For a moment he just looked at her standing there, looking gorgeous in a t-shirt, sweatpants and a ponytail. She looked a little bit older, but had rounded quite nicely and looked positively glowing. Their eyes met and they just stared at each other for a moment, each appraising the other and wondering at the strange turn of fate that had led them to become mortal enemies, reluctant friends, passionate lovers and finally… Well, finally this.  
  
The silence grew quite awkward, until finally Spike decided to break it for the benefit of his own un-dead and fragile heart. "Mr. Took? Well, it was definitely the lesser of two evils since I didn't want to get crap all over your tidy little home.", he said while stepping into the hallway and removing his coat, but not until he had thoroughly wiped his boots on the welcome mat. Handing his coat to Buffy, he continued to state his case just babbling as was customary when he was nervous. "The intentions were quite noble really; and if anyone's finer sentiments were to be stamped on it was better Mr. Took than you."  
  
"I don't know if I should feel flattered at that, you giving priority to me over Mr. Took"  
  
"Don't flatter yourself; it was merely self-preservation Slayer."  
  
He could've sworn he saw her smile and he relaxed. It was something like their old banter used to be and she could see that he didn't bear her any ill will at all. She led him to the living room and his eyes took in all the details. Little crayon drawings on the floor, stuffed animals on the couch and above the fireplace framed pictures of Buffy, Dawn, Joyce, the Scoobies, and a little boy holding two little baby girls. He looked away; he had seen enough. He looked back at her, sitting across from him on the couch and he realized that he should be happy for her. She achieved the impossible and attained what she wanted. She positively radiated happiness and contentment, and it ate away at him that she didn't find it with him. 'Better make this quick', he thought. Then he could drive back to L.A. and drown his sorrows in 100 proof alcohol. Maybe do some Karaoke or something.  
  
Breaking the silence again, he tried to make small talk. "So, how've you been?"  
  
"Oh. Ok I guess. The kids are doing fine and Dawn's almost done with her second year at college. She's gonna be coming home for Christmas. I just talked to her today and I told her you were coming. She wants to see you."  
  
"How is the little Niblet?"  
  
"She's alright. She's taking some theater or drama class now. Big surprise, huh?"  
  
"Yeah. Next time you see her tell her to give me a ring. What about Willow and Xander and demon girl and Giles?"  
  
"They're still the same. Willow went to go live in Wales; she got some sort of post at a University there, teaching Anthropology. Xander and Anya stayed in Sunnydale and she's expecting their second. And Giles is Giles."  
  
"Hmph. Figures.", he said. Didn't surprise him at all that four eyes was still buried in a bookshop somewhere, up to his ears in 'scholarly doings'. He was almost going to ask about Peaches and then he thought better about it. After all, it might turn out that he was home tonight and he really didn't want to socialize with Granddaddy-dear.  
  
"He's not here tonight.", she said, almost as if she could read his mind. They both winced at the realization of where this topic could lead them and so she instinctively changed the topic. "What about you? What've you been up to?"  
  
"Been alright. Was traveling a bit, cross country. Drove up a couple of places went to New Orleans and New York and all that. Didn't really get to leave the country since some git told me that the implant explodes or something once you leave the continent. I didn't really buy it but I didn't want to risk it. Went to L.A., did some freelance jobs and then sort of bumped into Lorn at his place the Citadel. Been in L.A. ever since, just sort of keeping a low profile."  
  
"Yeah, I heard from him that you were around. That's how I got your number." She said it almost shyly and she looked down at the floor.  
  
Spike thought he would rather die than endure another awkward silence, so he decided to go straight to the point. "Ok Slayer, you wanted me here, now you got me here. What's this about?"  
  
"I need your help."  
  
"Figured as much. What for?"  
  
"Something really important…."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Spike sat slumped at the booth at Cherry's nursing what must have been his sixteenth shot of tequila with another beer. In the history of all of God's green Earth, he was especially grateful that at one point in time some bloke decided, probably out of immense boredom, to crush a bunch of grapes and ferment the damn juice. In his inebriated condition he couldn't bear to think of how the world would have turned out without alcohol. It was just too much to bear really.  
  
"Where would we be then, eh mate? Where the hell would we be then?", he said to some guy passing him on the way to the bathroom. The man looked at him and nodded sagely in agreement. God, Spike loved L.A.  
  
He had driven back to the city from the little suburb that Buffy was holed up at and by the time he got there, it was much too late to go to the Citadel. Denied karaoke, he decided to hit one of his favorite haunts in the city and get as drunk as possible.  
  
He was relieved to be out of Buffy's home, the one she shared with Angel, their children and a bleeding golden retriever that nearly chewed up his coat. It was just too painful to be reminded of things he could never have and never want, all because he didn't have a damn soul.  
  
It had been five years since they had last seen each other, at the final battle. She fought alongside Angel, he became human again and the big bads were all squashed. Then, of course, he had done the ceremonious thing. The noble thing. The right bloody thing. He didn't want to make it any harder for her, because he knew that she was still in love with Angel. Hell, those two were soulmates. It was written in the stars, in all the prophecies, in all the bloody tomes that Giles insisted on poring over. He was no match for destiny or fate. He gave her up.  
  
And then of course, he had wandered around the past couple of years, getting into odd scrapes every now and then in order to distract him from the relatively new yet bitter taste of regret. It tinged everything about his life until everything served as a reminder of how he should've just challenged Angel to a duel or something equally anachronistic and gotten himself killed in the process, rather than wandering around in a somnambulistic haze, completely indifferent to everything and everyone. Oh well.  
  
Tonight, Buffy had asked him for a favor. He, ever her willing slave, just had to comply. Come running, he did, like a bloody dog. Looking him in the eyes, she had asked him to find a girl. She lived in L.A. and she was in his neighborhood. Spike just looked at her and told her he wasn't some sort of private investigator to investigate missing persons and of course she just had to mention that it was of Great Importance, and she would do it herself if she wasn't…  
  
It hit him; the glowing and the rounded figure and the womanly-ness and the blunt edges to the warrior woman. Another bun in the oven. How could he refuse her then, when he could never refuse her anything? It was a good thing that she was a mortal and was probably gonna die someday or else he was in for eternal slavery.  
  
He busied himself with his shot and almost didn't notice the hot brunette who was sitting in the bar, giving him the eye. Looking her over, he found that he didn't disapprove at all. 'Nice tits, nice ass. Yeah, she'll do', he thought absently. As soon as she noticed that he was looking right back at her, she gave him a smile and proceeded to walk up to the booth. 'Still got it…', he thought to himself, as the girl stood in front of him in a black sheath dress that clung to every curve and high black stilettos.  
  
She smiled at him suggestively, flung her hair back and greeted him.  
  
"Hello William."  
  
He was shocked. He was almost shocked enough to be sober but then he regained his composure. Maybe he'd shagged her before. But then if he had shagged her before he had gotten the chip, then she should be dead. Did he shag her after? Was she the one at that party? No, that one was a blonde. Hmm.. Mexico? No, wasn't in Mexico at all… Getting confused at trying to figure out who she was, he just decided to play it cool and see what he could pick up. Who knows? Maybe he could get lucky.  
  
"Did we shag?"  
  
Or maybe not. He wouldn't remember this is in the morning anyway. 


	2. Interlude with a Vampire

Chapter Two  
  
Spike looked up at the brunette right in front of him expecting a slap of indignation, followed by an air of injured virtue and a good view of her derriere as she walked away from him. It was what all nice girls did, and he knew instinctively that her style was just a bit too Jackie Kennedy to be a hooker. When things didn't proceed according to standard operating procedure and she actually slid into the seat across from him, smiling like a mystery he just couldn't wait to solve, he became certain. The dress was expensive and the horn rimmed glasses were almost convincing enough, but they couldn't throw Spike off. She was definitely not a nice girl. She looked the part of a bookish sex-toy secretary of every single depraved businessman's fantasies, almost to the point that she could answer a casting call in a cheesy porn flick. Suddenly, things just didn't seem so sordid anymore.  
  
Regaining his composure, he did a cover-up.  
  
"Actually, what I meant to ask was if we had met before."  
  
"No, actually we have not. Forgive me for being so forward, my name is Alyson Whitney." She extended a hand as if to shake his own, and he didn't know how to respond to this, what with the common courtesy and all, but then he noticed that she was handing him a piece of paper. A calling card.  
  
As he looked it over he could hear her voice droning on. "I'm a new partner at Wolfham and Hart and I was told that you had previous dealings with my associates in the past that were… mutually profitable for all parties involved."  
  
Suddenly, Spike could feel his sobriety crashing down on him all too quickly. He knew about the firm. Bloody lawyers. He decided to dispense with all the proprieties. Before she had time to react, he had reached over and pinned her neck to the wall behind her seat with a threatening look on his no longer human countenance. It was all business now.  
  
"Whatever it is you want from me you're not going to get it. I don't enjoy playing the pawn in your twisted little games, and you can tell your pansy ass bosses that I'm not doing shit for them. Understood? Tell them that, or I'll shred you into nice little ribbons that they can wrap around their company give-aways." He looked menacingly at her and exerted a warning pressure on her neck before releasing it.  
  
She looked a little shocked, but she was no pushover, this Alyson. When he released her, she had flinched a little bit but her recovery time was quite impressive. "Now now… There's no need to resort to idle threats. After all, its not as if you could actually do anything to me now could you, William?", she asked in a voice that could launch a thousand 1-900 numbers. She leaned in closer, almost conspiratorially, and her eyes were on a level with his. "Whereas I, if provoked, could probably do a lot more damage to you."  
  
She leaned back on her seat enjoying the emasculating effect her words had on him all the more since his reaction implied that what her partners had told her was indeed true.  
  
She had him now, hook line and sinker.  
  
"How would you like to have it all back?"  
  
"Have what back.", he retorted coldly, keeping up his indifferent façade.  
  
"What they took from you. Former glory. Your power. Who you were.", she paused for dramatic effect.  
  
He scoffed. "And you're saying you could give me that?"  
  
She crossed her legs revealing an expanse of silken thigh that she knew was distracting him.  
  
"It's not a matter of what we could give you. It's more a matter of what we can… take out."  
  
* * * * *  
  
In a place That Has No Name, in any language or lore, things were beginning to stir again. There were shards of color that had appeared unbidden by the consciousness that had created and controlled this non-place. The colors glinted off each other, rotating and exploding in the sky in a flash of perfect brilliance whose beauty was almost painful to behold. The silence was deceptive for this event did not go unobserved.  
  
Nothing had ever happened like this before and eventually it became obvious that there did exist some phenomena that eluded the control of even the One.  
  
Murmurings of thought interacting with doubts and fears were almost audible in the intensity with which they were felt by the One Who Is All.  
  
"What is it?" a passing thought entity inquired of the other.  
  
"I do not know, but it is does not resemble anything that was fashioned in the Order of All Created Things."  
  
"Do you sense It's anxiety?"  
  
"Yes, but it will never admit it to Itself."  
  
"Sacrilegious thought, best keep that to yourself. What will happen shall happen because it was deemed so." said a third thought entity, whose presence quickly caused all the others to go about their business and maintain the illusion of serenity in the mind of the One.  
  
But something was happening. Something quite… Different.  
  
TBC 


	3. Karma is just

Chapter 3  
  
The door to the musty, abandoned warehouse slid open, followed by the entrance of a non-too inconspicuous looking man with a penchant for Clairol and black leather. That's him alright. Our hero. Or maybe hero is just not the right word. Protagonist? Yes, much better.   
  
Our protagonist found himself contemplating the confines of his lair which he fondly called Chez Guillame. It was a rundown old place that had definitely seen better times, but to Spike it was home. Conveniently located in the meat packing district, the place had all the right amenities that a vampire needed for an un-life; plenty of blood, running water, electricity nicked from the neighboring apartment building and a cable subscription won by the use of his 'gentle persuasion' on the cable man. Nice cozy bed, clean sheets, a couch, a refrigerator with ample blood and lots of liquor, shelves for his books and lamps. It was nice, bordering on luxurious, but then he wasn't a hard man to please.  
  
He dropped his keys on the table and with them, the envelopes given to him by Buffy and Alyson. He went over to the refrigerator, rubbing his eyes wearily and took out a bottle of Stolichnaya. He knew that he needed it to sort this mess out, and so made his way back to the sofa with vodka in hand.  
  
He contemplated the manila envelopes in front of him and remarked idly to himself how they looked so much alike and how he couldn't tell one from the other. Taking a swig of liquor, he was hit by an epiphany. Besieged by confusion, distress and many other emotions that there were no names for, he decided to play a little game. He would pick the envelope and whichever one it happened to be, he would go with that course of action. Somewhere in his alcohol-soaked brain he was aware that it was too much of a coincidence that he was approached by the firm just after his meeting with the Slayer; whatever it was it was that they wanted from him, it was sure to be diametrically opposed to what She wanted.  
  
But what did he want? He wanted the chip out. In his all too brief summary of his wandering that he gave to the Slayer earlier that night he omitted that tiny detail. All of his travels were in pursuit of the rumors of new procedure for extracting the chip. And each and every single one of his endeavors ended in failure and disappointment, and the reinforcement of one single unpleasant fact: vampires who were chipped were only de-chipped when they are staked or scorched. Period.  
  
He was weary of the firm, and he'd just a soon kill them rather than deal with them again. However, if he knew of anybody who could find a way to obtain a cure for his predicament, it was them. They were smart, efficient and well connected; plus, he had no doubts that they had to procure similar treatment for a member of their vast, varied and high profile clientele. Spike never understood those bloody bastards who got turned and then proceeded to want to make money. Capitalist pricks. Yuppie scum who slept in deluxe coffins living in high rise apartments with butlers and all of that, wishing to spend immortality in an insular bubble of privilege. They'd all lost the damn plot.  
  
'And so here we are, Spike. Envelope number one, which entails the glory of saving the world for no compensation whatsoever save a thank-you from the Peaches family? Or envelope number two which promises to rid you of all technological afflictions at the cost of the damnation of everybody else and the destruction of everything you hold dear? What to do, what to do.', he thought to himself.  
  
After sitting there for almost an hour he came to a realization. 'Man can't make a decision hastily now can he? And whatever it is the Slayer wants it will probably be better for my welfare in the long run.' He picked up an envelope, sniffed it, looking for the distinct vanilla and honey smell of the Slayer. When he smelled musk and jasmine, he instinctively reached for the other one and opened it.   
  
All of the details of what Buffy wanted was there. He had to find a girl, take her in for a few days and make sure that nobody else got to her. Enclosed in the envelope were pictures of a young woman of about 21, taken from a distance. She was sort of tall and slender, with shoulder length hair and a strange expression on her face, looking for all the world like a dejected and helpless soul. He was almost willing to bet that she was a key or something like that and so he decided that he would do it. And she wasn't all that bad or anything; a bit too bookish looking for his type, but then you never knew with make up. He shuddered to think of another Glory type fashion-victim self- proclaimed deity stomping around in tacky shoes and ruling the world.   
  
There were no other details involved and Spike thought better than to ask about it. It was a deceptively simple task, which meant that it entailed much inconvenience and many more troubles later. He hadn't been around for more than a bloody century for nothing.  
  
Leaning back on the couch, he almost started to doze off and he realized that morning was coming. He took his boots off and started to draw the makeshift blinds he made for the windows. Shedding clothes as he walked to his bedroom, he tried to go to sleep.  
  
  
******  
  
After much tossing and turning, Spike finally decided to give in. He couldn't go to sleep without knowing what it was they wanted of him. Maybe he could make an informed decision. And really, why would a firm aid and abet the end of the world when it meant their own demise? He just might be able to have his cake and eat it too.  
  
  
He hastily grabbed his pants at the edge of the bed and put them on as he walked back to his living room. Picking up the envelope, he had a moment of true misgiving and doubt before proceeding to rip it open.  
  
Inside was a brief letter with only a few words, but they were enough to quell any hopes that he just might be able to get his chip removed without unintentionally helping bring about an Apocalypse or something equally shitty.  
  
As he smacked his hand to his forehead in a gesture of frustration, he let the paper fall loose and flutter to the floor.  
  
As it settled, he looked at it again and swore disbelievingly as he read the words once more. Make no mistake about it, they wanted what she wanted as well.   
  
TBC 


	4. Hello Darcy

Chapter 4  
  
Darcy was awakened by the not too pleasant experience of sunlight hitting her directly on her eyes. She shifted and stirred in her sleep, trying to use her pillow to drown out the harsh rays of heat and light on her face, but it was no good. She was awake now and there was nothing she could do about it. Sighing to herself, she wiped the drool off her face and sat up stretching as she observed the mess that was her room.  
  
There were clothes strewn all over the floor, with clean laundry sitting on a pile on the edge of her bed and dirty laundry taking up most of the other space. The blinds were not drawn and as she sat up, the residual alcohol and the other remnants of last night's debauchery hit her and she had to force herself not to hurl.  
  
Being careful not to step on any clothes, she made her way to the bathroom to wash her face. She looked in the mirror and was confronted with the way she looked. It was almost enough to make her want to puke again. There were streaks of mascara and liner that had accumulated under her eyes while she slept and she looked like an overzealous Kiss fan after the rain. Not a very appetizing sight in the morning. Sighing to herself, she reached for her eye makeup remover and a cotton ball and proceeded to wipe the mess off.  
  
The apartment had been a mess ever since her roommate had gone to France for a semester. Solen was the only one who ever cleaned up around the house and Darcy felt more than just a little lost and incomplete without her. She had gone out almost every night of the week rather than sit in her apartment and mope about, but it did nothing to ease any of the pain.  
  
Darcy had dropped out of school two semesters ago and so she spent most of her free time either writing or painting or sewing. She needed to keep herself amused because being idle just seemed to make everything so much worse. She was a good student and was actually quite academically brilliant until that Day. The day when she started to see… things. She had panicked in Sociology class because she had glimpses of strange and horrible things that were but a blur in her memory, and the next thing she knew she was put in a psychiatric ward, pleading with her parents and anybody else who would listen that she wasn't crazy.  
  
And that train of thought led to the next part of her toilette. She flipped open the medicine cabinet and extracted the many bottles that were a part of her 'treatment'. Xanax, lithium, Prozac, Valium and all these other goodies dispensed on a regular basis to anchor her to reality. She weighed all the pills on the palm of her hand, tempted to just throw them away but knowing deep inside that it would be just another exercise in futility.  
  
So she wrote. So she was creative; an overachiever. But she was no Sylvia Plath. She didn't want to put her head in the oven and neither did she want to die. And in no way was she depressed until that doctor came in a pulled a mindjob on her parents, convincing them that she was suffering from delusional disorders of some sort and needed to remain under heavy sedation.  
  
But nobody believed her, except for Solen. Everybody else was all too eager to pounce on her misfortunes, just dying for the excuse to put her down once and for all, Miss scholar/ writer/ Sylvia Plath wannabe. She couldn't even go back to school. She had tried, despite her parents objections and the doctor's explanation that she suffered from a nervous breakdown and needed to avoid such strenuous activity. She won that little battle of wills, but then she ended up being so sedated in class that she couldn't remember or pay attention to what any of the teachers said. Numb. So she stopped school.  
  
Leaning over the sink, she took a deep breath and reached for the glass. Filling it up with tap water, she took her medicine like a good girl should. After all, just getting stressed out about this was just another exercise in futility. Shedding her clothes, she proceeded to take a shower and get on with her day.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Darcy's day consisted of a routine. She would sit down and write in her journal, contemplating things until she would touch on matters that were best left alone. Then she would sit down and paint, using either a phrase she had heard or read somewhere as her inspiration, or maybe even things that she had seen in her vivid dreams. She didn't suffer from the visions anymore, but boy did she dream. Paging Dr. Freud, anyone?  
  
Then after that, she would sew. That was her source of steady income and her one distraction nowadays. It had all started as a hobby back in high school and eventually it progressed to designing and making her own clothes. And then there came that rift with her parents after her admission to the hospital; not the shock of sudden excommunication but the natural outcome of the lack of trust that had always been there before. She wouldn't take their money; she would rather starve. And so she began to sell her clothes in consignment to a store down the street and it was enough to pay the rent and keep a girl in bread and butter.  
  
It wasn't a dreary and terrible existence, especially since she was with Solen most of the time. But then even that relationship had begun to falter under the strain of Darcy's dependence on her roommate. When Solen went to France, it had the manifest function of furthering her education but it also had the latent function of providing Solen with her own space. Not that Darcy blamed her; she knew it was a bit too much to ask of anybody, even a best friend, to be the shoulder of support. She knew that she had to be independent someday, emotionally as well as financially. Life was just a bit too harsh when she went home at night to an empty apartment, and woke up in the morning missing the sound of Solen cooking breakfast.  
  
And so, Darcy found herself frequenting the neighborhood bars and haunts at night when she had finished most of her work. She would go to poetry readings or group discussions at the library, the occasional art show or fashion show that her other co-designers would collaborate on and then the rest of the time was spent at the theater or at movies. Nights home were spent with her nose buried in a book.  
  
Everyday she stuck to the same routine for the first two months of Solen's absence. It was comforting and amusing, but after a while even her varied routine couldn't stave off boredom for much longer. Lately she had taken to drinking more, partying more and staying out to the point when very late became very early. Slowly but surely the hedonism increased incrementally until she spent most of her days either recovering from a hangover or contributing to the creation of one very enthusiastically. It was like a race; she had to keep herself amused at increasing intensity in order to drown out everything else that was haunting her mind. For every day that she put off confronting her fears, the mental static in her head just became louder and louder needing a higher dose to drown out the worries, the fears, the anxieties that had begun to constitute her life.  
  
It was pathetic really, and there was a part of Darcy that was amused at the irony of it all; a part of her that found it all to be one big joke, and yes, she finally understood the deep dark sense of humor that belonged to whichever entity created this sick sad world. It was dementia; she wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry. And then after going through all the motions, she would fall asleep. 


	5. For the love of chess and latin

Chapter 5  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, Spike and BTVS characters belong to Joss, etc.  
  
Author's note: Due to some issues with grades and midterms, have yet to update... Til now of course. I don't profess to be better than the BTVS writers and I'm tired of writing fics that are in their little parallel universe... Yes, I am going to play God and devote all my time to this series now. I've had this planned out for eons and finally I've mustered up the caffeine to pound it out. Here goes nothing...  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"You're late" said the man in the tweed suit and spectacles to his companion without even looking up from his perusal of the morning newspaper.  
  
"No, I'm early" his friend replied, setting his briefcase down on the adjacent chair.  
  
"In what alternate plane of existence, pray tell would you call being 20 minutes late as early, Monsieur Samedi? I'm intrigued by your sense of logic, faulty as it is. Enlighten me, I'm in the mood to be amused." The man in the tweed suit said, folding up his newspaper and tucking it under his arm. He regarded Monsieur Samedi, took in his sleek black suit and skinny tie with a familial sense of contempt and affection before he extended his hand in a gesture of invitation.  
  
"Well, excuse me Father Dimanche, but I got caught up. Send a bolt from the heavens to strike me dead or something. Come on, I've been insolent, I deserve it." There was a touch of bitterness to his tone, but then Monsieur Samedi just liked to affect the emotion without being a true cynic. He took the proffered seat anyway and extracted a cigar case from his jacket pocket.  
  
There was a moment of silence as the two perused the menu of the outdoor café where they met almost everyday at the same time for a rousing game of chess. Both men had known each other since the beginning of time almost, and had played this game with the skill and precision not common amongst laymen. They were quite sure that until the every end of time they would still be playing this game, no matter what else happened.  
  
Some days they could go through at least two games before they were both called back by their responsibilities to their posts at the university. Dimanche worked at the mathematics and philosophy department and was one of the most prolific professors at the university. Samedi was no slouch at physics either, yet he had earned the contempt of his peers simply by being too young, too flashy and simply too arrogant.  
  
Many at the university speculated as to why two such diametrically opposed people would actually seek each other's company out. Some thought they were lovers whose chess games were a sick form of foreplay. Others weren't nearly as perverse in their speculations yet were still left to wonder why the two were even friends when the age gap between them was so obvious. In the few snippets of conversation overheard between the two men, people could barely discern any civility in statements such as "move it you fat old lady" or "shut up, I'm trying to think here you insolent little twit." Still, it was a mystery that nobody found too intriguing and they left the two to their own devices with the occasional "The odd couple is going at it again" or "That kind of animosity must conceal sexual tension".  
  
They flagged down a waitress and ordered their usual fare, and then proceeded to take out the board and the pieces.  
  
"Which side are you playing this time?" Samedi asked Dimanche, knowing fully well that the answer was going to be white. It was a little running joke between them that was not funny at all, but tended to be humorous for bored intellectual types.  
  
Today, however, Dimanche was in the mood for something a little different. "You know what, maybe I'll give being black a go."  
  
Samedi stopped arranging the pieces and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Did I hear you right old man? Did you really say that you would play black?"  
  
"Wasting your time in physics has really dulled your brain. Yes, black. Quickly, I haven't got all day to watch you gape at me." Dimanche replied, taking out a pipe and filling it with tobacco.  
  
"All right, whatever you say." Samedi was aware that part of the reason Dimanche chose to play black was because he had already set up the pieces in their usual order and would necessitate inconvenience on Samedi's behalf, but he was much to eager to play white. Finally after eons of waiting, Samedi would have the first strike! It was almost too good to be true.  
  
When the board was finally arranged and the pieces all in order, both men looked at each other across the board and the competitive tension was on.  
  
"Ultinam barbari spatium proprium tuum invadant!" Samedi said by way of jest.  
  
(*"May barbarians invade your personal space!"*)  
  
"Touche!" retorted Dimanche. "Visne illud iterare?"  
  
( * "Care to repeat that?"*)  
  
" I said, sterecorem pro cerebro habes!"  
  
(* "You have shit for brains!")  
  
"Quid me appellavisti?"  
  
And after much taunting, the games were on. 


	6. Alright, I'll come out

Chapter 6  
  
"Wake up bitch!"  
  
Darcy groaned as her speakerphone came on and the sound of Simon's voice boomed throughout the room.  
  
"Come on Darce, you've gotta get out of the house and moping and all that! You'll get wrinkles and turn into a bag of bones. I know you think it's all Salingerian to become a total recluse, but it's not going to help. You've got to go out, you've gotta PARTAY!"  
  
Darcy buried her head under the pillow to drown out the sound of her insistent friend. It was only 7:00 pm but she was tired from a day of sewing and attempted industry. She had been to the store today and was given a big order for a pair of pants that sold well, so she really wasn't in the mood to be unproductive.  
  
However, after listening to Simon rant on and on and on about getting a social life and going out to distract her from her issues and how there were going to be a lot of hot guys to wherever they were going to go tonight she relented. She knew that Simon was completely enchanted by the sound of his voice and would continue his little monologue even if she didn't reply so she picked up the phone just to end the noise.  
  
"That's my girl! Come on, get dressed I'll pick you up in half an hour." He sounded really pleased that she answered.  
  
"Simon, I can't! I'm brooding. You just interrupted a very nice session of brooding and I'd like to get back to that."  
  
"Sweetie, staring at a wall and brooding is not going to solve anything."  
  
"Neither is going out to get sauced with you!"  
  
"You're missing the point. Why be miserable by yourself when you can be miserable in a roomful of hot men? Plus, it's free booze. Some sort of art show or something and they're having a little poetry reading. You can bring some of your stuff and you can take center stage."  
  
Darcy shifted a bit, slightly interested. "Fine, pick me up in half an hour Simon."  
  
"Honey, how many times to I have to tell you, it's Simon-e."  
  
"Alright Simone. Don't be late or I'll kick your ass."  
  
"Idle threats will get you nowhere! I'll see you, sweetie, darling."  
  
And that was how Darcy was persuaded to go out for another night of debauchery. 


	7. Pickup lines that never work

Chapter 7  
  
Every time Simon took Darcy to one of his social gatherings she always found herself in the same position. Usually it was a seat by the bar or in some remote corner of the room where she could sit unobserved yet observant. She liked to play little games as she watched people and she would do an on-sight analysis of their characters based on posture or minute little details. That was a lot more fun than having to talk to them since the conversations usually tended to be really boring and mindless.  
  
As she watched Simon walk around the room, chattering like the extroverted social butterfly he was, she couldn't help but smile. She genuinely loved him for all of his bitchiness and queen-y behavior because he was one of the few people who understood her and her crazy penchant for strange things.  
  
Usually at these art shows all of the work tended to be the same and it amused her how people could mill around for hours pretending to like the work or even any of what was being shown. Bleah. Fortunately, they were having the show at one of her favorite haunts, Sanctum. She thanked the heavens for this discreet little bar and quickly downed a glass of shiraz.  
  
After playing her little games such as "spot the nose job" and "discern the real tits from the fake" she realized that from across the bar, someone was staring at her.  
  
He looked ok, if you could discount the whole retro-punk thing and the bleached hair. Then again, he was a bit too well dressed to be straight. Darcy never knew with the parties Simon brought her to, and she had learned to be wary of the good looking guys since they ended up going for Simon anyway. She turned away, not wanting to relive the disappointment, but when she looked back, he was still staring at her. Hmm. There was a note of interest there but there was only one way to be sure.  
  
She motioned to the bartender, Jimmy and he leaned over. "Jimmy, you see that guy over there?"  
  
Jimmy looked over to the other end of the bar. "Yeah. Seems to be giving you the eye Darcy. He's really checking you out."  
  
She looked at the stranger who seemed so intent on her then turned back to Jimmy. "Maybe he's giving YOU the eye. Or maybe he likes my dress, as in he want to wear it."  
  
"Maybe, hon. But my gay-dar isn't going off the scales here."  
  
"You sure about that? Maybe it's on the fritz. Let's get a second opinion" she turned to look for Simon and waved him over. Almost immediately he was at her side with a questioning look on his face and wondering at the urgency.  
  
"What's the matter sweets?" Simon asked, carrying a bottle of champagne that he swiped from a passing waiter.  
  
They filled him in on the situation and asked him for his diagnosis on the sexy stranger at the other end of the bar. "Lamentably straight." Simon replied, before wading back into the crowd to mingle, swigging the champagne bottle.  
  
Darcy and Jimmy just looked at each other. "Well, Simon says..." Darcy conceded, and suddenly she panicked. She couldn't turn to look at the guy now, it was simply much too obvious.  
  
"Jimmy what's he doing now?"  
  
"Well, he's getting up... and he's walking.... And walking some more... he's kind of hot but that look is soooo eighties... And he's got this nice leather coat thing going... Yup, too butch to be gay... And oh shit...." Immediately, Jimmy pretended to have something to do at the other end of the bar and gave every impression of being the hardest working bartender in L.A. while Darcy hissed at him.  
  
"Get your ass back here! What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means the guy you were talking about from the other end of the bar just walked up behind you and would like to ask if he could buy you a drink" said a heavily accented English voice from behind her.  
  
Mouthing the words `oh shit', Darcy schooled her features into a modicum of composure and turned around.  
  
"The drinks are free you know. Private party" she smiled in her no-nonsense, emancipated and empowered woman smile. `Ha! Try hitting on me now!' she thought.  
  
And this was how Darcy first met Spike.  
  
TBC 


	8. Smooth moves

Chapter 8  
  
  
Spike had been waiting at the bar for about an hour before the girl finally walked into the door. She looked a little different from how she did in the picture, but then people always looked different when they piled on eyeliner, cut their hair and wore dresses that looked like they had been mauled by a lawnmower.   
  
He had been thinking about all the ways that he should make his move on the target. He had gotten her name from the envelope and in it was her address and her number, but not much else. Indeed it seemed that they had wanted to do more but were restrained by their own human frailty. 'Serves you bloody right, Peaches', he thought. He relished the fact that his grandsire could feel impotent as a human with less strength and less heightened senses. Spike took his pleasures where he could and it was a meager comfort. For a brief moment he contemplated going to Buffy's house to murder them all in their sleep, but then he decided that it was just plain rude and a bit tacky. Besides, he'd get a hell of a headache.  
  
He was quite glad that the girl had actually decided to step out for the evening and go to a bar. After all, it was a convenient way for Spike to get inebriated while on the job; a little bit of pleasure with his business. He deserved it since it was very hard work charming the telephone pole-lady into letting him slip her a fifty dollar bill to tap Darcy Milne's phone. Very smart move indeed. He shuddered to think about WHERE the telephone pole lady wanted him to slip the fifty… Honestly, some people.  
  
Sighing, he looked around the place and was even more depressed at the sight of so many edible looking people whom he couldn't play with. It was the same excruciating torture he had seen on the faces of children in candy stores. He had a brief conversation with a Russian lush who sat beside him, but then he decided not pursue it when the lush rolled his head on the bar and slept. And then that was when the girl came in.  
  
He had barely recognized her since she had seemed to look quite different from the bookish girl he was expecting. Her dress seemed to be inside-out and the seams were all ripped up and patched back together with various safety pins and stitches. Of course Spike could appreciate creativity but then this seemed to be a bit much, especially the paint that she had splattered on to the thing for effect. For a moment he thought he'd got the wrong girl but then he looked at the heavily made up eyes and he could see the same forlorn expression in them. Definitely this was the girl.  
  
He hadn't noticed that he had been staring at her the whole time until he saw her look right back at him, trying to discern his intentions. She had a coltish look to her and was strangely gamine, as if not quite used to the long limbs just yet. However innocent the eyes were she still looked a bit too past the Lolita phase to be a key so you could scratch that possibility out. Still, what harm could possibly come from handing her over to Wolfham and Hart?   
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the discussion concerning his sexuality. Gay indeed! He was offended at that, not that he had anything against gay people mind you but still, he worked at his look and usually it was a chick magnet. With horror he questioned whether his charms were slipping and was mortified at the thought. Then he thought better about it and decided to show the little bint exactly how gay he was.  
  
And this was how he had come out with just another set of the bon mots he was so famous for.   
  
"It means the guy you were talking about from the other end of the bar just walked up behind you and would like to ask if he could buy you a drink"   
  
Hehe. He was actually quite proud of that. See if any woman could resist him now. Course, he hadn't exactly expected the whole disgruntled feminist routine.  
  
"The drinks are free you know. Private party"  
  
He must have looked as stupefied as he felt, since he usually didn't get such a reception when he turned on the 007 routine on other birds.  
  
"You know, open bar?" The girl tried to get it across to him when she noticed the uncomprehending look on his face.  
  
* *********  
Immediately Darcy felt like a bitch when she saw that the smug look on his face had evaporated faster than acetone on a countertop so she decided to be civil. She wasn't as good as Solen at telling guys to shove off because she always got this twinge of remorse.   
  
She looked back at him and realized he wasn't all that bad when he had his mouth shut and wasn't looking so smarmy.   
  
"Um.. Anyway, you can sit here if you want." She patted the stool beside her in what she hoped was a conciliatory gesture. Seeing the relief in his face, she sighed. Being civil to strangers was gonna be the death of her someday.  
  
"Thanks." Spike took the proffered seat and they both sat there a little awkward.  
  
She turned to look at him with a sideways glance. "So you're not gay then?"  
  
The look he gave her couldn't have been any icier. "No. I am. Not. Gay." Jesus, what was wrong with this girl?  
  
"Oh." She considered this for a moment. "Then what the hell are you doing here?"  
  
"I came for umm… The art." He picked up a flyer from the bar and realized that all of the paintings featured sodomy and men in a variety of poses doing very lewd things to each other. "Yes, definitely the art. I'm always looking to broaden my horizons."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him, then took a gulp of her wine. "You're better off going to the porn store down the street. It's cheaper and they've got guys doing all sorts of things with Tarsier monkeys like you won't believe." She raised her index finger to emphasize her point. "Now THAT, with the monkeys is just sheer ingenuity."  
  
Oh good she was sauced. Then again he wasn't so sure. A chit like this who'd rip her own dress to shreds and leave the house with paint spattered all over her- you never really knew if there weren't any bats in the belfry so to speak.  
  
There she was off, rambling again and so caught up in her little tangent that she didn't notice the quick motion of a hand slipping something into her drink.  
  
"Very very politically incorrect. The monkeys are all endangered don't you know. But it's all art that is- just being blatantly politically incorrect and outspoken and everything. Don't you think?"  
  
"Yes, yes that's absolutely fascinating." He said, impatiently tapping his fingers on the counter and giving her a smile that he hoped concealed the cringe. God, didn't this girl shut up? He was waiting for her to finish the rest of her drink so that she could get sedated, get thrown in the back of the DeSoto and that would be it- problem solved and Spike was a free man. Maybe a thank you shag from Mrs. Peaches, or even a thank you kiss could do. He had squeezed the entire bottle of whatever it was that Misha gave him ("Guaranteed to work on any woman!") into her wine glass, just to be safe.  
  
"So, do you want another drink?" He tried to play it a little smoother this time.  
  
"Huh?" She paused in the middle of her tirade and looked blankly at him. When she saw him gesture to her glass, she downed the rest of it and handed it over. "Yeah, another shiraz would be great."  
  
He was halfway back from the bar when he first noticed that her motor coordination skills were slipping. Good show Misha. He sidled up to her and gave her his most seductive grin.  
  
"You wanna step outside for a minute, luv? Have a fag?"  
  
She looked at him and her speech came out slightly slurred. "Yeah, ok." She stumbled off the chair and he supported her by slinging her arm around his shoulder and lifting her slightly until they reached the back door. "Just so you know, I don't run off with every guy with some accent." She said woozily as he escorted her out.  
  
Spike just rolled his eyes heavenward and thought why me, and then proceeded with his oh-so diabolical plan. 


	9. Delivery

Chapter 9  
  
Buffy's pleasant dreams of buying the new set of Wedgwood china, which was in a lovely taupe pattern that even Martha Stewart would be envious of was interrupted by loud bangs on the front door and the constant ringing of her doorbell. Crap. Who the hell could that be now?  
  
She rolled across the bed and noted that Angel, as ever, was completely dead to the world. She thought about waking him up so that they could investigate what the fuss was about but then she remembered the look on his face the other week when she told him to stay right where he was and she would go check on the noise- he looked downright emasculated. Better he should sleep this out; if only for his ego's sake.  
  
Fastening her bath robe as she went down the staircase, she paused to get the ornamental kitana from the hallway. Never knew who or what evil could be lurking behind her door demanding entrance.  
  
"Who is it?" She asked, getting into a tense crouch and ready to pounce.  
  
"It's me."  
  
Oh, right. "How do I know it's really you?"  
  
"You and your husband have stupid hair."  
  
She unlatched the door and noted, with surprise that Spike had an unconscious girl in his arms. "What… What the hell is this?" She said, indicating the girl.  
  
"Special delivery. You ordered it, you got it. Goodbye." He moved across the room to dump the girl unceremoniously on the couch and was about to leave when Buffy grabbed him by the arm.  
  
"This was not a part of the deal Spike. You were supposed to keep her for a while until we could sort this mess out."  
  
"Look, Buffy. I realized what I said but I can't do it. I have things to do- plans and everything. You can't just ask a bloke to keep some strange girl in his place. What am I gonna feed her? Am I gonna have to put her on a leash or something? Not a good domestic situation for this bachelor, thank you very much." He made a move to go but then she didn't loosen her grip on his arm.  
  
"Spike if she wakes up here she's going to ask a lot of questions and maybe even call the police. This is kidnapping and frankly I don't think I can afford to have this hanging over our heads right now."  
  
"You think I can? I've got a life too you know."  
Buffy rolled her eyes. Why was he making this so difficult? "Yes, but you can't go to prison or be incarcerated and have your children put in foster care or worry about the mortgage." She had tried every other tack and the sympathy vote always used to work.  
  
He seemed to know this too. There was a silence for a while as they stood there, her hand on his arm restraining him. "That's cheap Buffy. You can't keep playing on a guy's sentiments like that because one day all of it is going to run out. And you'll be left with the indifference you've created."   
  
"Please Spike. I wouldn't ask you if this wasn't that important."   
  
She felt the tension drain out of his body and she knew that he had accepted. She was relieved at this yet there was a strange pang of guilt that she felt because she knew that what he was saying was right. Hadn't it always been that way between them?  
  
She walked over to the couch to look at the girl lying in it. "What the hell did you give her? She looks practically comatose."  
  
"Oh some date rape drug." He dug his cigarettes out of his pockets to light one and even though she looked reprovingly at him, he lit it anyway. He deserved it.  
  
"And to think you had the nerve to call me cheap, Mr. Date Rape?"  
  
"Hey I can still get girls. In fact they swarm all over me all the time. Have to beat them back with a stick. A very BIG stick." He smirked. "And if I recall I didn't need to sedate *you*"  
  
"Knock it off."  
  
He shrugged as if to say that at least he tried and she went back to examining the girl, checking her pulse and her vital stats just to be sure that she hadn't overdosed. Satisfied that the girl was going to live, she noticed her dress. "What the hell is she wearing?"  
  
"Oh, that. Well I picked her up at some pouf-fest so no telling what kind of strange attire they're used to there."  
  
Peering closer at the garment in question, Buffy touched it. "Is this paint?"  
  
"Had the same thought meself when I saw the damned thing." He moved to look over her shoulder. "Tell me, why the hell do you need this girl? I don't understand it. Is she another one of Angel's cases?"  
  
"To be honest I don't really know. Cordelia had some sort of vision about her."  
  
"What was in the vision- that she would be killed or something?"  
  
"No not really. She just had a vision about her. Period."  
  
"No other details?"  
  
"Nope. Except that Cordelia's intuition told her that it was something pretty important and that we should find her." Buffy shrugged in resignation. "You'd better get going if you want to get back to the city before sunrise."  
  
"Ack." He stood over the girl and then hefted her and slung her over his shoulder. As he turned to leave he had one parting shot for Buffy.  
  
"You really are the bane of my existence you know."  
  
"Yes I know. Goodnight." She closed the door and realized that she had never let go of the kitana the entire time.   
  
Setting it back to its place in the hallway, she went back to bed hoping to dream of china or that new shrubbery she was thinking about. As much as she missed the adventure and excitement of her past life, she really had no complaints about the security and serenity that her current one offered her. 


	10. Domestic Disturbance

Chapter 10  
  
The first thought that Darcy had as she woke up was that she had just had the best rest of her entire life. She tried to raise her hand to wipe away the sleep from her eyes when she realized that she couldn't move it.  
  
Looking at herself, she realized that her arms were over her head, bound to the bedframe. By cuffs. Looking down at her legs, she realized that her feet were tied up as well. Oh shit.  
  
Panicking, she did the first thing that came to her mind.   
  
She tried to rouse herself from her dream, because obviously this couldn't be happening. This really couldn't be happening to her. Closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened eyes. Damn. Not a dream.   
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"  
  
Footsteps echoing louder and louder. She kept screaming.  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"  
  
Suddenly, she beheld the face of her captor as he ran towards her with an alarmed expression.  
  
As she recognized the guy from the bar, she paused. "You?"  
  
"Yes me. Now-.." He was interrupted by the sound of her screaming again.  
  
"AAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" the screaming turned into a kind of screeching as she felt her voice becoming hoarse. She stopped screaming and started coughing a bit since some of her saliva had slid down her throat the wrong way. He leaned over and slapped his hand across her back because he was worried that she was going to choke, the way her face had turned a deep red.   
  
The second he touched her, she became alarmed. "Help! Somebody Help! RAPE!!!!!!"  
  
She kept chanting it over and over again until, drowning out his pleas for her to be quiet and so he gave up on trying to reason with her and his temper snapped.  
  
"WILL YOU SHUT THE HELL UP YOU STUPID BITCH! I AM NOT TRYING TO RAPE YOU!"  
  
She was stunned into silence for a while and then she bellowed right back at him.   
  
"Who the hell are you and why the hell do you have me tied up like this? Are you some sort of sick perv who drugs girls and ties them up in chains for the hell of it?" Her eyes widened as some new horrible possibility flittered into her mind. "Oh god, are you a serial killer?"  
  
Spike could have laughed at the irony of that question. Deciding that he didn't need a hysterical ward, he tried to put her a bit more at ease.   
  
"I could've killed you or raped you at anytime, the way you were all zonked out for hours."  
  
She digested this information and appeared to calm down but then she had watched 'Silence of the Lambs' and then she was off again.  
  
"Don't think I don't know what you people are like. You enjoy it better if the victim is lucid. That way you can see the fear in their eyes as you slowly peel the skin away. God, get away."  
  
She started thrashing on the bed again and was looking to launch into another fit, but then she stilled and began babbling.  
  
"You know what, just do it for God's sake. Everything else in my life has gotten so shitty you might as well just end it. Go on, peel away. Bring out your damn surgical scalpel and go. Here I am ready for disembowelment and disarticulation." She really meant it. She was so sick of all of this stuff happening to her, her life a surrealist sketch rendered in Crayola and infinitely absurd. Better to end it all before it got any weirder.  
  
He put his hand on her mouth to keep her quiet and he spoke it with the most rational precision. "Will you listen you twit. I am not trying to kill you but I just might do it if you keep that up. Tu comprends?"  
  
She nodded, unable to answer due to his hand muffling any sound she could make. "There are people who are after you and…" He was interrupted by a cynical roll of the eyes which indicated that she thought what he was saying was a load of bull. "No, it's true. Believe me you're better off here with me than running around out there. I am simply putting the restraints on you because I cannot have you running around loose. The cuffs are for my protection." He took his hand away from her mouth to let her speak.  
  
She was panting now, trying to catch all the breath that she had expended screaming her lungs out. "Are you sure… I'm not tied up because of that thing I said about the porn store, right?" He shook his head. "You're not going to rape me or anything." Another shake of the head.   
  
"Well why the hell not, is there something wrong with me? Am I ugly?"  
  
"No, just deranged." Spike was at the very end of his tether with this girl and for a moment contemplated giving her another dose of sedative. He could stand her unconscious. "And although I have been known to favor eccentric ladies in my day, you, princess just take the cake."  
  
"I resent that." She pouted for a little while, and then she started again. "Just let me go- I doubt that anybody is after me and I think you're just one of those savior-complex guys ok? Or maybe you're just paranoid. I know a very good psychiatrist and he could help you work out these issues. Honestly, I'm going to be ok. Now uncuff me."  
  
"Not in a million years."  
  
"Why the hell not? I'm not going to kill you, I can't even hurt a fly. Plus I'm a vegan you moron."  
  
"No wonder you're so bent. Don't you know you need protein for your brain? Bleedin' wonder you can speak at all."  
  
She got pissed off at that, and seeing the wrath on her face, Spike decided to leave her be. She could make all the noise she wanted and noone would ever hear her in this district, but then he was watching a particularly engrossing episode of 'E.R.' which had become his new favorite show since he had seen an episode and realized it was so bloody. Plus he got a satisfactory sense of Schadenfreude from seeing all those people suffer. Hehehe.   
  
As he turned to go back to the TV, she called out to him.  
  
"Yo…"  
  
He didn't look back.  
  
"Yo, Blondie!"  
  
He froze, paused and swung back in one fluid motion.  
  
"Alright, that's it." He walked over to the trunk at the foot of the bed and started digging through it and Darcy panicked. Maybe he would bring out the scalpel and torture implements now. With bated breath she waited for the iron maiden or whip or whatever the hell it was this sicko was going to use on her and it was… a sock?  
  
Her eyes widened. "What the hell are you going to do with that?"  
  
"This, my dear is an implement that I have absolutely no qualms about stuffing down your throat the next time you decide to give me pet names. That clear?" He was saying this in a very low and menacing voice and suddenly Darcy felt more than just a little chilled at the sound of it.   
  
She tried not to be intimidated but then in her current position, who wouldn't be? But at least she was able to muster something out. "So what should I call you then?"   
  
"Call me…" He paused for dramatic effect. God he missed playing the villain. "Spike."  
  
"That's a stupid name. I preferred Blondie."   
  
He lunged at her with the sock in hand and she backpedaled. "Fine, fine. Spike."  
  
He dangled the sock in front of her in the most threatening way her could, then he stalked back to the TV. However, before he could get about ten feet away from the bed, he heard her start up again.  
  
"Spike, I need to pee."  
  
Oh for the love of…  
  
************  
  
He had set her free for a while because she had needed too use the bathroom and then he decided to tell her to shower as well so she could be finished in one go.  
  
He sat outside the little curtain that served as a makeshift partition for the bathroom he installed and he asked himself why the hell did he let that Slayer talk him into something as ludicrous as this. A pet human?   
  
He was dangling something in his fingers, playing with it. The card that the lawyer bitch from hell had given him. God she was a real black widow that one, a femme fatale. He was so tempted to just kill her but not until he had given her a good shagging as well. He had long ceased to wonder at the way his twisted little mind worked.  
  
Darcy was possibly the most annoying creature he had ever encountered in his life. And not in the whole 'I hate you and I want to shag you senseless' way either. She was just plain annoying. He wouldn't be surprised if he found out that she was some specimen of extraterrestrial life. Wouldn't bat a bloody eyelash.  
  
What harm could possibly come of handing her over to the firm? Stupid girl wanted to die anyway, so he might as well get something out of it. His chip, out.   
  
For one full minute, he allowed himself to consider the possibility of really getting the chip removed. He could kill again. No more animal blood forever. Everything would be fresh and organic, as opposed to the iron rust taste of bottled blood. The kill, the hunt.  
Predator and prey.  
  
He had spaced out for a second until he heard Darcy's voice calling out to him.   
  
"Spike, I don't have any clothes."  
  
He looked at her, dazed by visions of killing and complete anarchy. "What?"  
  
"Spike, I have nothing to wear. I don't have any clothes." Her head was peeking out from behind the partition and she was afraid to venture out any more.  
  
He sighed in exasperation. "Stay here I'll go get something."  
  
He walked into the bedroom contemplating what he could get for her to wear. One of his shirts? No, he wouldn't want to part with that. Besides she wouldn't fit into any of his clothes, the skinny thing.  
  
He paced the room, trying to think of a solution to the apparel problem when he noticed the trunk.  
  
************  
  
"This is scratchy." Darcy said, pulling at the gauze sleeves of her dress and making a face.  
  
"Shut up. Would you rather walk around naked?" He replied, never taking his eyes off the TV.  
  
"I. Can't. Walk." she practically spat the words out.  
  
They were sitting in the living room now and Darcy was bound to some sort of rolling office chair that he found. Her midriff was chained to the chair but her arms and legs were free and he got a real kick out of watching her roll awkwardly across the floor. She looked like a baby in a walker.  
  
"Oh I forgot." He looked at her with a sadistic smile on his face. "Stop complaining Sit 'n' Spin."  
  
He was actually being quite hospitable, he thought. What, with feeding her and everything. For a moment he thought he'd gone soft and then he realized she was his ticket to blood and glory. Woo-hoo.  
  
"What are you doing with women's clothes anyway? Don't tell me you have other hobbies apart from recreational abduction and torture." She sniffed at the dress and made a face. "Damn thing smells like mothballs."  
  
He ignored her, thinking it would make her shut up but then she just kept whining.   
  
"I need my meds, and my music and the rest of my clothes. And then the rent is due on Friday and I've got all this other stuff to do. Plus Simon must be so worried and now I'm stuck here like a quadruped on wheels. No, life just doesn't get any better."  
  
She kept going on and on about how she needed her stuff and knickknacks and then Spike realized that she didn't really seem to be resisting much, sort of resigned to her life as a captive.   
  
"Spike, if I'm going to live here I'm going to need my meds."  
  
"Fine. We'll pick them up tomorrow. Happy?"  
  
"Yeah. As I can be."  
  
He noticed how calm she was being and he couldn't help but think it was strange for someone who had just gotten kidnapped to be so… Ok with it. "You seem to be dealing with this awfully well."  
  
Darcy looked him in the eyes and he noticed that sad and weary expression again.   
  
"It hurts less if you don't fight it."  
  
He didn't know what to say to that and they both watched TV in silence.  
  
TBC 


	11. Meanwhile, In the Study...

Chapter 11  
  
Author's note: Just a little note before we begin the proceedings… Thank you so much for the people who have read and reviewed this series. I know that if I was browsing through the fics I would totally bypass this one. (somehow I gravitate towards smut but I'm not good at writing that… I've tried and the attempts are quite horrible to behold)   
For some unfathomable reason people have actually read this and wrote such kind reviews. I am perpetually grateful for all the support and it encourages me to write even more. I would also like to thank the Academy, my body double, my makeup artist... (oh, wrong speech! *shuffles papers around in messy apartment, looking for words that can express extreme gratitude*) Nothing is more satisfying and soul-warming than knowing that at least one person read your work and liked it. At the time of this writing I may have ten reviews but I feel wealthier than the Queen of Sheba.   
  
  
  
  
"It's all about pawn structure."  
  
Samedi clenched his fist in irritation as his opponent launched into another one of his speeches which was bound to end in some condescending lesson for his former protégé. It wasn't as if Dimanche really wanted Samedi to learn anything. No, not that.  
  
It was merely a deliberate diversionary tactic designed to rile Samedi up to the point where he would lose his temper and his focus on the game. Sly old dog he was, that Dimanche.   
  
"You know, you've become positively corpulent since the last time I saw you. Did you gain any weight?" Samedi said, giving his companion a scrutinizing look.  
  
"My dear daft fool, if that is meant to insult me I can only say this; it is physically impossible for a man to grow corpulent in the span of a day. Please don't make such a blatant show of your ignorance for all to see, it's really quite vulgar." The older man was nonplussed by anything verbal hurled at him, since he knew that by remaining indifferent he could get an even bigger rise out of his opponent.  
  
"What do you mean for all to see? There's nobody in here of any notice except for that blasted bust of Plato!"  
  
They had met to continue the game in Dimanche's study which was the very epitome of academic elegance; it had oak paneling, hand-carved wooden furniture, vast quantities of leather bound books and the reassuring smell of tobacco and cognac. It was a privilege granted to the senior members of the faculty and was much more comfortable and cozy than the younger professor's relatively shabby desk.   
  
The game's progress had not gone as fast as usual since both players were unaccustomed to their current sides. They were very skilled players indeed, but they had failed to realize that their respective repertoires of tactics and stratagems were very much one sided; the foci of experience of one extended to mobilizing black, the other white. To compensate for the lack of anything very exciting happening on the board they kept taunting each other hoping that the other would make a mistake, but both players did not wish to be impulsive.  
  
They stared at the pieces intently, their minds a flurry of rapid calculations and evaluations of the possible moves when they were startled by a knock at the door.  
  
"Francois, will you get that?"   
  
"Oh so you're bringing Christian names into this now? It's your bloody office you get the door." The younger man was infinitely annoyed at this blatant display of pulling rank, and besides he had a game to play here.  
  
"Fine" Dimanche crossed over to the locked door, opened it and beheld one of his students with dissertation in hand. "Ah, yes Mr. Bradford. What can I do for you now?"  
  
"Sir, this is about my thesis. I was wondering if you could spare a moment so I could consult you about it?"   
  
"Yes, I suppose I do have a moment to spare." He opened the door a bit wider and beckoned Mr. Bradford to come inside. When the student looked questioningly at the other professor, Samedi simply replied. "Yes, don't mind me at all. Not worthy of any notice whatsoever. Go on."  
  
"Don't mind him. He is the recipient of a less-than average intellect you see, and although he is a burden to the rest of us the proprieties shall be observed; we do not mock our inferiors." Dimanche sat at his desk and he beckoned to the student to sit across from him.   
  
"Tell me Mr. Bradford, what ails your thesis? If I'm not mistaken it's a refutation of Epiphenomenalism on the basis of…. What was it again?"  
  
"On the basis that qualia serves as a way of informing the individual about the external environment and is integral to adaptive survival. And the correlation of that with the brain mechanisms means that they are one and the same and that it is the basis of conscious experience." Bradford handed over his thesis to the professor and he flipped through it, marking on certain points.  
  
"Yes, but are you sure you are not simply begging the question? If you are prepared to defend this thesis in front of a committee you must be tenacious about it. Remember that Epiphenomenalism never doubts that qualia and the mechanisms are correlated. They are simply eliminating it from causality."  
  
"I have Ockham's razor on my side." The student replied with uncharacteristic confidence, which belied his pride in his work.  
  
"Very well, I shall look over this and let you know what you can do to revise it."   
  
"Thank you sir." Bradford leaned forward to shake the professor's hand, but as he was leaving he was addressed with a question by Samedi.  
  
"Mr. Bradford, what are your opinions on chess?" The other professor didn't even bother to look at him as he said this, since he was in the process of lighting a cigar.  
  
Bradford thought about it for a second; should he tell them that he didn't even bother thinking about chess or should he beg off and do the civilized thing? He decided to be honest since he really detested Samedi.  
  
"It's a terribly anachronistic game. I don't like it; it's too rigid and too simple."  
  
"Is that so?" Samedi asked with an amused expression on his face.  
  
"Yes. Nothing in life is black and white and neither are the moves so limited in range. There is no room for ambiguity whatsoever, only square and startling contrasts. Life isn't like that. You are always free to choose what you are and the circumstances do no define you. I am a great believer in Free Will and there's no room for any of that it chess, A pawn remains a pawn and a queen remains a queen; it is simply too one-dimensional and there is an imposed caste system, with no exceptions to the stringent rules." As his speech became more impassioned, Bradford realized that the two professors were observing his outburst with expressions of droll amusement.  
  
"I should go. Good Afternoon Gentlemen." And with that, the student had made a hasty retreat.  
  
They stood looking at the door long after he left until Samedi turned to Dimanche.  
  
"That was awfully amusing. I thought there weren't any idealists left in the world."  
  
Dimanche crossed over to his seat before he replied. "Yes I almost feel sorry for the person. Poor little bugger." 


	12. Telephone Call

Chapter 12  
  
  
  
After watching a good deal of old movies and M*A*S*H reruns on TV, Darcy had fallen asleep on the chair. The evening had been a quiet affair with her staring fixedly at the television and Spike drinking a whole pitcher of what looked like Bloody Marys. She had asked for a sip and became grumpy when she was refused, muttering that he needed to 'go to AA' or check himself into the Betty Ford clinic and Rainbow Hill where he could 'hang out with Ben Affleck and that coke-fiend Backstreet Boy.' He got pissed off and told her that she needed to go to an asylum if they would take her, and then they both kept the indignant silence. Otherwise there were no other incidents worthy of remark and time simply drifted past.  
  
Spike had stared at her long after she had fallen asleep, racking his brain on his alternative courses of action. He was confused about what to do yet he knew that he would have to make up his mind sooner or later. In his hand he still held the calling card of the firm and he held on to it like a lifeline, another option that he was seriously beginning to consider with each passing second.   
  
Yet there remained the pang of conscience he felt when he looked at the girl. She looked even more innocent with her face free of makeup and her body just too small to fit into Drusilla's dress properly. Everytime he contemplated some new devilry, the guilt was there, for associating with white-hats didn't exactly leave a man's formerly non-existent moral compass unbesmirched.   
  
She looked like a little girl playing dress-up with her mother's clothes, and despite all her affectations she was still as naïve as a child. This was never more apparent to him when he saw her curled up as best as she could on the chair, sleeping soundly. He may not like her, but he couldn't condemn her to death for that, could he?   
  
He had killed people for much less than mere dislike in the past, but he had changed.   
  
Or had he really?   
  
He couldn't afford the luxury of morals and ethics and ideals at a time when survival depended upon being pragmatic. Oh, what to do, what to do. He remained immobile like this for a few hours, mind going 300 miles and hour before he finally snapped out of his contemplative trance.  
  
Finally, he rose up and unchained the girl, picking her up and placing her on the bed. He took the necessary precaution of reinstalling her restraints before he picked up his duster to leave.  
  
He had made up his mind about what he wanted.   
  
He left the warehouse, locked the door for security's sake and crossed to the other side of the street where a convenience store was located. Just outside there was a payphone, and after he fumbled in his pockets for the appropriate amount of change he dialed the number on the card Alyson had given him.  
  
When he heard someone pick up the phone, he automatically segued into his trademark rant.  
  
"That was a damn fine message you left me. Cryptic enough?" He didn't bother with the proprieties of politesse.   
  
"What do you mean? I thought it said everything we could possibly need to say."  
  
"I have no idea what it meant." He was baiting her into saying exactly what it was that they wanted; this way he could gauge just how much they knew about Darcy or what Buffy had asked him to do.  
  
"Yes you did. You and I both know that you knew exactly what we were talking about. We didn't even bother writing it out for you anymore because we believe in practicing an economy of words. No point in beating around the bush or making incessant gestures and wasting ink and paper. So, tell us where to meet you and if you have the girl."  
  
"I haven't said I'd give you the package just yet." Spike was annoyed at the smug tone that responded to him from the other end.   
  
"You didn't have to. Why else would you be calling?"  
  
Deciding to ignore that insightful response, he tried another line of inquiry.  
"If I give the package to you, will you hurt her?"  
  
There was a pause on the other end. "What exactly encompasses your definition of 'hurt'?"   
  
Bloody lawyers. "Bodily harm, dismemberment, the termination of her life as a sentient creature. Do I have to spell it out for you, you daft cow?"  
  
"No need to get bitchy. I can't promise anything, but you can rest assured that she will not be inconvenienced anymore than she has to be." Spike could hear a faint grating sound from which he surmised that Alyson was filing her nails.   
  
"Cut the euphemisms out; will you kill her?"  
  
"Do you care? What is one mortal life to you, when your freedom hangs in the balance?"  
  
Damnit, she had him there. When he didn't respond, she gave him a piece of advice.  
  
"Tomorrow evening, after sundown. Griffith park, a public place so you can be sure that we don't pull anything underhanded. You bring the girl, we bring you 100k in cash and we send you to the specialist who will get the chip out. I suggest you do this, William. Be grateful for what you can take and what you have."   
  
She hung up, not bothering to wait for an answer because she already had an inkling of what it was. He would be there.   
  
She was betting on it. 


	13. Bar scene

Author's note: Sorry that I haven't been able to update- just had midterms and exams galore yet again. Hopefully I can pound out a couple more chapters soon. Almost done here, but then there's episode two, then three, then four… Epic saga is not an understatement.  
  
Chapter 13  
  
What to do, what to do.  
  
Spike had his head flat on the surface of Cherry's nicely lacquered bar, trying to drown out his confusion with vast quantities of alcohol yet again. He had finished his tenth bottle of Jack Daniels and still no epiphany. He wasn't exactly on God's side, but still he hoped for a deus ex machina- something to get him out of this bind.  
  
He had come here searching for solace and booze, and proceeded to get drunk. Damn that lawyer bitch from hell and her little ploys.  
  
"Bar's closed Spike. Go home before it's sunrise." The voice which was currently interrupting his thoughts belonged to the proprietor and namesake of the bar, who held her own in the demon community among her patrons, despite the fact that she was both a human and a woman. Cherry.  
  
He raised his head to respond, then he realized that he had underestimated his drunkenness and it lolled back on the bar.   
  
As he lay there, slipping slowly out of consciousness, he heard another very familiar female voice.   
  
"Spikey? Spike is that you?"  
  
He tried to think of where he had heard that voice before, and then he remembered. One of his exes, certainly a lady of questionable reputation. Groaning, he realized that he would rather be unconscious than deal with this right now and feigned being in a subconscious state.  
  
A hand rested on his arm, shaking him slightly. "Spikey, I know you're still awake. What's the matter, aren't you glad to see me?"  
  
Grating, annoying, insipid- why did he ever turn this girl?   
  
Then it hit him; the epiphany that he had been trying to drink himself into inducing. Maybe this was the deus ex machina he had been waiting for all along. It was simply too fortuitous to see her here.  
  
He opened his eyes and flashed a warm movie star smile.  
  
"Hi Harm. Of course I'm happy to see you. I'm positively ecstatic to see you."  
  
Liar. But it was all for a good cause. 


	14. Called Away on Business

Chapter 14  
  
Darcy shifted in her sleep when she heard noises. She had waken up earlier that night to discover that she was tied up again, but she was grateful to be back in the soft cozy bed. She had called for Spike and realized he had left her alone when there was no response. She had tried to escape intending to use the bobby pins she had stuck in her hair, but it was no good. She couldn't reach them with her hands tied to the bedframe.  
  
She had fallen asleep again and woke slightly later on when she heard the sound of Spike's voice engaged in conversation with someone else- a female. It appears that he had gone out and now had some company. Good for him. She rolled to her side and went back to sleep.  
  
************  
  
"Ms. Whitney?"   
  
Alyson peeled the cucumber slices from her eyes to venture a peek at the person addressing her. She was resting in the spa of her hotel, enjoying the very best rejuvenating facilities that money could buy. She did not appreciate the interruption.  
  
"Yeah, what is it?"  
  
The man handed her an envelope. "This came from the board. Apparently there's going to be an emergency meeting of the partners."  
  
She took it quickly and ripped it open.   
  
"Shit. They decide to shift upper-level management now? Why the hell didn't they tell me about this earlier?" She looked at the emissary, bristling at the way this coincided with her plans.   
  
"Apparently it was a last minute decision."  
  
She read the letter again, and looked at the ticket enclosed in the envelope. "Do I have to go to this meeting?"  
  
"It's important that all the partners are there." Monotonous reply, businesslike and cold.   
  
"I have business here in L.A." She objected, ever so furious at having this inconvenient interruption.  
  
"It can wait." Still the same emotionless delivery.  
  
"No it can't."  
  
"So delegate it to somebody else. Your plane leaves for New York in three hours. I suggest you get packed soon." The man simply turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Alyson to stare blankly in his wake.  
  
TBC  
  
*More to come soon.* 


	15. Delivery (Part Deux)

Chapter 15  
  
"So where's the walking-sexual-harassment-suit-just-waiting-to-happen today? Off convincing people to sign off their souls in blood contracts?"  
  
It was just after sundown at Griffith Park and Spike had driven up for the meeting, only to encounter three similarly bland men in three similarly bland suits. A part of him was miffed that the firm didn't bother bringing out the big guns, just three goons. William the Bloody didn't even merit a lawyer or some big-time security-no no, just some lobby guards.   
  
He checked them out and realized that they were amateurs and this bruised his already lacerated ego even more. They didn't even look armed, the stupid twats.  
  
Another man stepped out of the car, also clothed in the same kind of suit and Spike was struck by how funny this all seemed.  
  
"Hey, it's Paul, Ringo, George and John!" He said, chuckling to himself at his own joke.  
  
When nobody else laughed, he decided to go straight to business. "Right then. Where's the money and where's the bitch?"  
  
"Ms. Whitney is unfortunately away on business today and she sends her regrets."  
  
"Does she, really?" Spike paused to consider this. "I think she likes me, that one."  
  
"Do you have the package?"  
  
Spike didn't seem to hear him, just looked down at his red shirt, his black De Soto and the background of Griffith Park when he realized something.  
  
"Well well… If this isn't déjà vu! This is exactly like that scene in 'Rebel Without A Cause'! You know, where James Dean and Natalie Wood are trying to convince Sal Mineo to come out… And in this scenario, I'm James Dean!"  
  
The suit dubbed 'John' piped up "No, no… It's more like the part where they have the knife fight, during the field trip…"  
  
"Oh yeah! I think we might be standing on that very same piece of ground that they filmed that on!" Spike marveled, looking around appreciatively. "You know they totally butchered that concept for the Paula Abdul video- the one with that twat Keanu Reeves?"  
  
The suit that Spike had christened 'Paul' stepped forward, seeming to lose all patience with the movie nostalgia. "That's very nice. Good for you. Now, if you don't mind can we get straight to business? WHERE is the package?"  
  
"You have the money?"  
  
The one named Ringo raised a briefcase that he had been carrying.  
  
"Open it. Show me."  
  
The man complied, setting the briefcase on the hood of the car and opening it. In it were nice rows of hundred dollar bills stacked neatly.  
  
Spike looked at the money for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "I said I wanted half in twenties, a quarter of it in tens and the rest in fives."  
  
The hired help simply looked at each other, totally confused. They weren't instructed for this. "We… We weren't… Nobody gave us instructions for…"  
  
Spike simply rolled his eyes. Idiots! "That was a joke…? A concept you are not entirely unfamiliar with, I take it? Then again what do you expect if you work for the source of all evil- stupid capitalist pricks who all have law degrees."  
  
'Paul' paid him no mind. "The girl?"  
  
"Ah yes." Spike walked back to the car, opened the trunk, and took out a struggling but distinctly female form out of it. He hefted her over a shoulder and made his way back to the men, tossing her to the nearest suit, 'Ringo'. "Catch!"  
  
'Ringo' struggled with the girl, since she was a hell of a lot stronger that she looked. "Guys, I need some help here."  
  
'John' and 'George' went over to help him subdue the girl, while 'Paul' made an uncharacteristically acute observation. "Why does she have a bag over her head?"  
  
"Oh mate, trust me. It's for your own good- nasty little wench that one is. She's a bit of a biter." He took the briefcase from where it was perched on the back of the car, and lit a cigarette with his free hand. "Now, the number of this specialist?"  
  
"Ms. Whitney said she'd be the one to give it to you personally when she gets back in town. She'll leave word with Cherry."  
  
Spike frowned. "She didn't give it to you?"  
  
"No, she insisted on delivering it personally."  
  
Spike smiled. "I told you she liked me."   
  
He turned from the group, money in hand and made his way back to the car. He turned the key in the ignition, drove off, and didn't even look back. 


	16. The Glass is Half Full

Chapter 16  
  
  
There are a few things that money cannot buy. Love, valor, honor, loyalty and respect are just a few of these intangibles that come to mind.  
  
However, Spike wasn't interested in acquiring any of those things at the moment. His most pressing concern, fortunately, did have a financial solution. Medical treatment for the removal of his chip was something that he could indeed buy with the profit he made in this little deal, and he was prepared to pay every cent for his liberty.  
  
So maybe the glass was half empty, but Spike liked to think that it was half full. After all he had given away nothing and gotten something in return- a good deal of somethings.  
  
He looked idly at the money spread out in front of him and smiled.   
  
He didn't think that he could trust the lawyers to keep their promises regarding the chip and he wasn't even comfortable with the idea of being at their mercy. He didn't like the idea of having an Achilles heel that made him susceptible to any attempts at manipulation. William the freakin' Bloody was a self-autonomous unit- nobody but nobody played the likes of him.  
  
After all, he wasn't born yesterday.   
  
But he could go out and find this specialist by himself, if he did exist. He could go ask the demon community, since there was bound to be something going round about this. Then he could go check on some medical journals and do some necessary research- hunt down the government surgeons who designed this thing. And with money to pave his way there was nothing stopping him.   
  
"Spike… I'm hungry."  
  
Well, except for the belle in chains.   
  
She had been sore at being left alone and chained for such a long time that she had refused to speak to him when he first got back. After he untied her for a much needed bathroom break and set her in her chair across the TV, he had pretty much forgotten about her existence for a blissful hour.  
  
"Spiiiiike… Hungry! Famished! Starved! Emaciated!" Darcy was banging her feet on the floor now, emphasizing each word. "Food! Now, Now Now!!"  
  
He stalked into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboard, looking for something. She kept punctuating her pleas for food with stomping feet, to make her point and it riled him up enough to slam the cupboard doors. Finally, he found what he was looking for and handed it to her.  
  
"Here. Put that in your mouth."  
  
"What? Wheetabix? Again?" She was starving and this guy was gonna feed her cereal? "Don't you have anything else more edible?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Well, what do you eat?"  
  
"I don't eat." He said it as if it was obvious, then he realized that his guest wasn't aware of his undead state. "I'm on the Zone diet." Covering his tracks nicely.  
  
He could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to process this lie.   
  
"Hmm… You drink a lot, you've got a British accent that's all fake and Shakespearean-theater-like, you obviously work out and are psychologically damaged… Then you're semi-anorexic and toxically vain… I know what you are!"  
  
He tensed. How to calm her down now?  
  
"You're an actor!"  
  
Thank the heavens for unperceptiveness. It was such a desirable quality at times. 


	17. When Befuddlement Turns Into Righteous A...

Chapter 17   
  
Harmony regretted ever agreeing to play this little game with Spike.  
  
Sure she had resisted at first. Then he started with all that seductive English talk with that goddamned accent and then made his puppy dog eyes at her and she couldn't refuse him after.  
  
'Let me tie you up, Harm.' 'I missed you so much, it killed me.' 'This won't hurt a bit at all.' 'Trust me, being helpless is such a turn-on, luv.' Hah!  
  
She couldn't believe that he had done this to her yet again, using her simply to fulfill his own selfish needs and evil ends. And there she was, just constantly giving in to him and ever so eager to please.  
  
She didn't understand why it was she put up with his shit. Sure she read all of the self-esteem books and came to terms with her own emotional co-dependence and his masochism, but still. Why did she allow him to do this to her?  
  
Because she loved him. And the sick part was, she loved him even more when he was being an asshole to her. Harmony might not have known much but she knew enough about herself and about Spike to say that they were sick people who got off on being treated badly. Two peas in a pod.  
  
She stubbed out the cigarette that she found in the coat pocket of one of the professional-types Spike handed her over to and she crushed the butt under a well-shined patent leather heel.   
  
Surveying her handiwork (which consisted of the four mangled corpses of ex-Wolfham and Hart employees stupid enough to unbind her) her resolve hardened.   
  
"Spikey, you're going to pay for doing this to me." She said aloud, above the drone of the crickets and the cicadas.  
  
The car had fallen into a ditch when she unsagaciously killed the driver. (Smooth move, Harm!) Not knowing how to drive stick, she was forced to walk back to the highway and hitchhike back to the city. She was, amazingly, able to accomplish the task- yet tripped ungracefully over a rock several times. But she was a woman with a mission and no matter of pebble or untraversable vegetation would stop her.   
  
Vengeance would be hers. 


	18. Grumpy Old Anthropomorphic Figures

Chapter 18  
  
"You really are slipping in your senility. That was such a stupid mistake that it makes me think that you've contracted Alzheimer's. Or maybe you ate a mad cow."  
  
Samedi was exultant because he had made the first kill of the game; a black pawn left unguarded in a moment of hastiness by Dimanche.   
  
"Well, we are not infallible you know. And that's what makes it all so interesting." Dimanche retorted, affecting an air of nonchalance since he did not want to give his opponent the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. He took his pipe out of his coat pocket and proceeded to fill it, grateful for the distraction. Really, Samedi could be insufferable at times.  
  
"All this talk about 'pawn structures' and 'the infallibility of the Sicilian Defense'- hah! Look at where your structure has gotten you now you fool!"  
  
"Calm down. It's only one pawn. You haven't won the game just yet." The older man said, starting to get annoyed. "Besides, gloating is undignified!"  
  
They had been playing the same game for three days straight now, and they did it with such excruciating slowness that the movement of molasses seemed exciting in comparison. Tentative moves and ginger steps here and there; really none of the cutthroat casualties that characterized all of their other, all-too-brief matches.  
  
So really, the acquisition of a pawn was a big deal since the rest of the game was relatively uneventful.   
  
They were sitting in a small bistro today in the city and enjoying a leisurely lunch before they had to resume professorial and professional responsibilities. Of course, for them leisure meant bringing out the chess board and giving it another go. They were unfamiliar with the concept of fripperies or activities that did not demand some sort of cognitive work. As stated by your trusty narrator previously, they were really quite dry like that.   
  
After glancing at his watch for a moment Dimanche sat up and straightened his jacket to leave. "I've got a prior engagement Francois. I hope you don't mind if I cut this short?"  
  
Samedi looked up in surprise. "Where are you off to? Got a social life? Because that would be beyond my wildest imaginings- people voluntarily spending time in your company more than they absolutely have to… Preposterous, no?"  
  
"You always were of limited imagination Francois. No it's not a social affair…" He picked up his briefcase and put on his hat. "It is a business matter with some of your former associates. You remember?"  
  
"Oh yes. The shareholders meeting. Well, you'd better run off then. Being late is just plain rude and inexcusable, I say. And if I remember correctly, they're quite sticklers for rules like that. Those sharks will eat you alive for a lot less." Francois paused to consider this for a while. "On second thought, by all means stay right here. Incur their wrath and spare me the burden of having to kill you myself."  
  
"I'm so touched by how that completely ignores my best interests." He took out his wallet and extracted out a fifty franc note for the bill. "I'd love to sit here and bask in the idle chatter but I've got about twenty minutes to try that teleportation spell and make it to New York. Abeo, Francois."  
  
"Off with you then. Begone, heathen creature!" Samedi said, shoo-ing his mentor away. As he watched the older man's retreating form, he remembered to remind him of something.   
  
"Say hello to my apprentice. She was one of yours you know- goes by the name of Alyson now." He called after him.  
  
All he got in response was a polite tip of the older man's hat, and he chose to take that as acknowledgment. 


	19. Of Past Lives and Current Loves

Chapter 19  
  
Alyson was pissed.  
  
Not only did they have the audacity to put her in business class for her red-eye short notice trip to New York, but it also turns out that the drop didn't go as expected. She had called up her P.A. as soon as she got in, only to be informed that he was currently in the custody of the coroner's office. Great. Of all the times he had to die, couldn't it have been when she could find a suitable replacement? Insensitive prick- he did it on purpose. Now she had to go and find the time out of her own busy schedule to order flowers for the funeral. Or maybe she wouldn't send flowers. Serves him right!  
  
To add even more insult to injury, they had just informed her that her mentor, Francois Samedi had just sold his shares to the company to some tweedy old man who was kept staring at her from across the board room.   
  
She needed to go and eviscerate something, if only to get rid of this murderous rage she was barely concealing.   
  
However, despite everything she was feeling she sat there with a smile plastered on her face and giving a casual observer nary a clue as to her state of inner turmoil. She was even able to stand up and clap when they had just announced the new Chairman of the Board. Above all other things she was a professional, goddammit and she wasn't going to let any of this get to her. She had lived through much worse and she could weather this storm.  
  
Which is why she was standing by the buffet table, heaping as many canapés unto a plate as it would hold. It was emergency rations, she reasoned. Every woman needed an outlet. She looked down at the table and spotted something that caught her attention.  
  
"Oooh.. Chocolate!"   
  
As she was about to make her way towards the one thing that promised to make it all momentarily better, she felt a hand on her elbow that forced her to stop. Whirling around she found herself face to face with her new boss.  
  
"Going somewhere mademoiselle?" Remi Dimanche asked, amused at the changes he perceived in the woman in front of him.  
  
"Uh.." Quickly, woman. You don't get paid 200k a year for simply having nice legs you know… "Yes. I thought I noticed one of my colleagues at the other side of the room. I was just going to congratulate him on this account he was handling." She tried to feign her true intentions but she had the feeling the he could see right through her.  
  
Just as she was turning to leave, he spoke.  
  
"You always used to like chocolate, even when you were a little girl in Boston. I know your mother didn't approve because diabetes ran in the family but you would sneak out every day, sometimes skipping lunch just to get some. One day your mother found out you'd been doing this and she stopped giving you an allowance altogether for a month just to teach you a lesson. But it didn't work because the next time you got your lunch money you went back to the same routine. Am I right?"  
  
This stopped her dead in her tracks but then she regained her composure. "I don't know what you're talking about. I grew up in Long Island."  
  
"No point in denying anything. We both know exactly what I'm talking about."  
  
She started at this, but then in her two years working for the firm and in her entire life she had seen more than enough to be awed by some telepathy chicanery. She wouldn't cave.  
  
"What do you want from me? Is it money? Because you're already the Chairman of this company and so I couldn't possibly think of why you would need it. And if you want to me to screw you I can only say that I'd rather die."  
  
He looked around the room, mindful of the eyes and ears of the other people around them. "I'll talk to you about this later. For now, go and eat your chocolate. Your mother can't see you from where she is."  
  
He walked away with a slight nod and she was left standing there to survey the buffet table.  
  
But she wasn't hungry anymore. 


	20. The Morning After

Chapter 20  
  
The strong smell of bacon and frying eggs wafted into the bedroom and it was strong enough to rouse Darcy out of another one of her strange dreams. Shaking off the stupor of slumber, she once again was reminded of her current status in life- which was mainly a captive or hostage or whatever- when she noticed the chains that bound her to the bed and the ones that were on her feet.  
  
She found that sleeping was ultimately preferable to waking since it afforded her less opportunities to bemoan her lot, and it saved her from having to make conversation with someone who was obviously a maniac. She tried to go back to sleep but it was too late; someone had already noticed that she was up.  
  
Spike had left the food on the griddle and went to check on his ward, his vampiric hearing alerting him to her present state of consciousness (namely, conscious) and he promptly untied her.  
  
"What is this- breakfast? I don't eat masticated pig or any other slaughtered animal." She grumbled, still sore from the cuffs and rubbing her wrists.  
  
"Too bad. I'm not cooking anything else be grateful that for once it's not cereal." He pulled her to her feet and propelled her to the living room where the food was spread out.  
  
"Oh, bestill my heart- the man is so considerate. Of course I would have appreciated the gesture more if you had prepared something I could actually eat?"   
  
"You have a mouth and teeth so you are actually equipped to consume food." He pulled out a chair for her and motioned for her to sit. "Now, eat."  
  
She took the chair reluctantly and he sat across from her, still drinking a Bloody Mary.  
  
"What about you, aren't you eating?"  
  
"I'm set." He said, lifting the glass for emphasis. He amused himself by watching her pick at the eggs and the meat, an expression of complete and utter disgust on her face. "Look, it's not poisoned or anything so you don't have to worry about that."  
  
"I'm not worried about the poison. Not that I doubt you're incapable of such an atrocity- mind you- I can tell these things about people. I just don't eat swine. Or chicken embryos." She was playing with her food now, as if the concept of bacon and eggs for breakfast was completely alien to her.  
  
"I guess you'll just have to learn then won't you?"  
  
"I was wrong. You are a complete sadist. How else could you have known how to inflict such a terrible fate on innocent farm animals?" She raised a forkful of egg to make her point. "These aren't even baby chickens yet! It's infanticide!"  
  
Great- the bint was an activist. Chalk up another one for the hate list. Just one more missy and off to the evil suit-wearing lawyers you go!  
  
"If it makes you feel any better I've got some processed meat in the fridge that I can fry up. No telling what they put in that- gizzards, eyeballs, hooves, the brains, the intestines, the ears, the guts- all of the unpalatable and oh-so juicy parts of the animal. Would you rather eat that?"  
  
"You're bluffing." She said, her eyes wide.  
  
"Try me." He made a motion to grab her plate and she covered it protectively.  
  
"No, no… It's fine… I'll… eat." She closed her eyes as she took the first mouthful, all the while chanting a mantra of 'Ethiopia, starving children in Africa and Asia, third world countries and economic oppression' in her head.   
  
After the first few bites, her hunger overcame her natural repulsion and she was appalled to find herself enjoying the taste of bacon despite going vegan all those years ago. She looked around a noticed the grocery bags on the counter and she was sort of touched that he had actually gone shopping just for her. Twisted sweet, but still she appreciated it.  
  
Spike couldn't bring himself to look at her, all bed hair and sleepy eyed. He was reminded of what he had planned and he felt a tinge of (heaven help him) remorse. He also couldn't bear the thought of having to live with her for a few more weeks to get this mess sorted out. Somewhere in the back of his mind something warned him that things were going to change drastically quite soon but he ignored it.  
  
He had been around for 128 years now and he had become fluent in the signals that preceded chaos and conflict. There was definitely a storm brewing and he could feel that it would have a drastic impact on him. And he was afraid. His brow furrowed as he contemplated the many possibilities. Should he just absolve himself of all responsibility now and seek shelter? Or should he just trust in the tides of change to buoy him into safe harbor once the storm was over?  
  
He was no hero with delusions of nobility and honor; oftentimes he found that they served as a hindrance to the everyday gritty business of survival. What slivers of goodness he found he still possessed he reserved for the worthy- those that he loved and those that were important to them. Wisdom had taught him not to expect too much and to take what opportunities were available to him since they were few and far between.   
  
Would he do it? Would he take this girl under his protection, even if it would entail all sorts of misfortune and excitement?   
  
Did you even have to ask? (And where, pray tell would the series be if he simply said no? No plot, no series, no fic- not a nice cycle.)  
  
He noticed that Darcy was going a little green in the face, with the expression of 'I cannot believe I just ate some masticated pig and enjoyed it variety' and he realized that there could be some fun to be derived from this.  
  
"Just eat your breakfast before I bring out the Spam." He said threateningly and she resumed her eating.  
  
FADEOUT 


	21. Shameless/ Gratuitous Plug for Episode T...

Shameless/ Gratuitous Plug for Episode Two  
  
"You've gotta have plot- everything else is just masturbation." – Buddha  
  
Actually, Buddha didn't really say that. Somebody else really wise did but at the moment I cannot recall who. In any case it works fine for me…   
  
Yay! I have finally finished the first episode and as you know, there will definitely be a second one but it probably won't come out for another two weeks or so.  
  
For all of you that are hating the cliffhanger endings and the unresolved plot threads, I can only say that they will start to unravel with the progress of the series and hopefully they will coalesce into a cohesive whole. (Maybe… Really hoping!)  
  
Now for the shameless and gratuitous plug part:  
  
COMING SOON  
  
Spike Spin-Off/ Episode Two: Realizations, Consequences and Epiphanies  
  
•More Plot Twists!!  
  
•More Snarkiness!!  
  
•More Drama and Somebody's Gonna Get Bitch-Slapped!  
  
•More Action!!! (though in all actuality there was no action in Episode One due to laziness of authoress to author action scenes, so any action is more action than any nonexistent action previously seen. Got it? Good)  
  
•More Spike!!! (It's a Spike Spin-off but in case you didn't catch it the first time…)  
  
•Angstier than the first installment but it's not gratuitous angst- it's totally necessary for plot development. Honest!  
  
  
Til then… Abeo!  
  
PedanticAnticQueen 


End file.
